Dahmer's Diary
by LEFTYLUCY222
Summary: The many trials and tribulations of the American Serial Killer and Milwaukee Cannibal, Jeffrey Dahmer


*Warning: Rated R for language, sex and maybe violence. . .*

Dahmer's Diary

Why are people so mean? I don't know what to do anymore. Its almost dark now and I have to go feed my parent's cats outside.

I am crying, though I have no idea why. I pull out the knife, slide it over my skin. Over and over, until my arms turn red. Then my thighs. It scares me. . .but it feels so fucking good. To feel the blood run off my skin and the tears draw back inside my body in shock.

Why? Why do people hate me? I cannot tell anyone. My secrets. . .I am a monster. No one would understand, if they knew what I have done. I can't even believe what I've done, sometimes. It makes me want to cry. But I'm a man, afterall. . .I am a man. I'm not a faggot, I'm not any person's bitch, I am a man. So I am not allowed to cry. Not even right now.

Its six past midnight now. I went down to the gay bar on 5th and gold street. There were two guys I had my eye on. I did the routene drug-the-drink, sat back at the bar and looked them over. One was a tall blonde guy, real leggy, baby-faced, probably not even 21 yet. The other was at least a head shorter than the blonde, much older, maybe early 30's. He had shaggy black hair cut in a rocker's fasion and piercing blue eyes that made my guts twist up when he looked at me. We exchanged glances, once, twice, three times. Soon the song ended and he sanutered my way, with a strut that would have turned any guy's head. A few kisses later he downed his special drink, and was leading me to the back room. Thats when the fear started. . .the fear always starts now.

You know. Its when so many things could go wrong. He might be very strong internally, and the drug not put him asleep for 10 to 20 minutes, and I could tell he wanted to top me. They always wanted to top me. I did it once, when I was in high school. With the hottest closet queer senior guy in the whole school. He was fucking huge and he wanted it without my consent and after that night I promised myself I'd never bottom again, if I had any say in the matter. This poor bastard sure didn't.

So theres the chance of this man, my vicim, possibly raping me before he goes to sleep. But honestly that is my smallest fear, though it would hurt me the most.

The biggest threat is that the bartender would see me, see us, see him go limp in my arms as I tried to open the door to our temporary bedroom, which has happened twice, though no one ever saw, and those who might have were too drunk or high to care.

He had a beautiful body that made me drool. Much to my relief, he went to sleep as soon as I snapped the bold shut that locked us inside. The long, cold blade of my shiny new knife was practically twitching in my pocket, right next to my hard, pulsing cock.

Before I mutilated the body, I always felt him up. I touched him. His skin was warm but the blood in his veins were cooling. It made me shiver to think about what he'd look like undressed.

I took off all his clothes, took off all mine, and layed on top of him for awhile as I thought of what I would do to him. I came up with a scenerio in my mind, a beautiful scenerio. . .we would meet in an alternate world where everyone just loved each other. He grabbed me, and I kissed him, and then he threw himself on me. . .he gave himself to me freely and I violently raped him in the grass, where we had met. The moonlight was bright and made his black hair shine with silver. . .this fantasy playing in my mind got me to the point I needed to be at. And I raped him. I kissed down his tan, beautiful body, tasted the sweetness of his soft lips and the salty heat near the base of his cock. I sucked him until he was hard, until he was beyond hard, but I was scared he might wake up. . .so I stopped. I raped him. It was delightful. His whole body moved every time I struck into him harder and harder, deeper and deeper, as deep as I could go. I shuttered and pulled out for the climax, came all over his face. It was glorious.

I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. Should I kill him? The veins in my head pulsed hard and I started to sweat. It always came to this. I would sit down for a minute and think "Okay, I got what I want. Do I need to kill him?" I said out loud to myself serveral times "No, you don't need to. You don't need to, Jeffrey. No. No. No." But then the second voice in m head told me to. I know it sounds like a faluty, pathetic excuse, but the devil was telling me to slit his throat. I NEVER killed my bar victims though. Never. I tried, God knows how hard I tried, day after day, week after week, to live a normal life. For 5 long years I lived the clean life, with my Grandma, going to church and not having sex, not even masturbating, because the paster said masturbation was wrong. I remember taking cold showers night after night, lying in bed for hours trying to think of anything but men. . .it was hell. I tried my hardest for 5 years, I really did.

I remember the first time I took a hot shower, I was washing myself and as soon as my hands got on the top of my waist my cock just unloaded voilently without so much as a touch. After that I started masturbating again, because I couldn't stand it. I got a girlfriend, I tried my hardest to think of her when I fell asleep, honest. But my mind somehow always made its way down to the gay bar before I could drift off to a miserable but much-needed sleep. I dreamed of dancing in the crowd with all those beautiful men, kissing them and touching them. . .and wake up with wet sheets over and over. I never had sex with my girlfriends, they never turned me on anyway.

Still, I did my best for 5 years. 5 years of torture and hell on earth. Each day, without knowing it, I got a little closer to breaking it. Breaking my promise to God and my Grandma and myself, that I would always stay clean. But the straw that broke the camel's back came one day in the public library. It was a lazy Friday afternoon, too hot to stay outside and too boring to stay at home. I was reading from a new series that had just came in, minding my own buisness in the back of the room, when a man came walking up to the table across from mine. He sat down facing me, with a big smile on his face. His eyes were a bright greenish blue and alive with happiness and pride. I could tell by the way he looked me over he was as gay as they come. He was beautiful. Big jawline, a small dark mustache, long, shaggy brown hair, broad chest and sholders. He made my stomache tighten and my heart thump. Every time I would look up, his sparkling eyes would be on mine, looking me over, staring into my soul. Begging me to come to him and do all the things I needed to do. All the things I haven't done in 5 fucking miserable years.

A grueling half-hour later he got up and sauntered to me, tossing a note in my lap. I looked up at him, grabbing the note. He winked at me and walked twords the bathroom slowly. I watched him disappear behind the door before opening up the folded paper.  
"Hey pretty boy. Wanna play? Come into the bathroom and we can play."

My mouth opened and I dropped the note back in my lap once I had read it. I was in shock. I was instantly hard. This gorgeous guy was practically begging for it. I could tell by the way he sasheyed across the room he was most probably a bottom. The more I sat there in shock, the harder I got, and the closer my mind was pulling me twords that bathroom. But this was a fucking public place. Too public.

I pulled out a pen and scribbled down my response under his fancy hand.  
"I'm not gay, man."

I tossed it over to the table he was sitting at and got up, uncomfortably walking over to the bookshelf to hide. In a few minutes I saw the door to the bathroom open and he came out, looking somewhat confused. He picked up the note and giggled. Looking around, he spotted me peeking between two books in the second row. I cursed under my breath when he started walking twords me.

"I know your gay."

He whispered in my ear. God he smelled like fucking heaven on earth. I pretended to fake-giggle.  
"How would you know if I was?"

I asked, looking him in the eyes.  
"Well for one, straight guys don't hide behind a row of books in the library. . ."

He chuckled, putting his hand the back of my neck, and continued speaking.  
"And how many straight guys do you know that hang out at gay bars? Huh?"

I looked at him in shock. I hadn't been to a gay bar in 5 fucking years.  
"I've missed seeing you."

He whispered, as if he read my mind. He being taller than me pushed me back into the shelf and grabbed my aching bulge. That was it. Me being the whore I am told him to follow me to my car. We went to his place and fucked all day that day. Then I took him out to dinner. It was marvelous. I told him all about what I was going through. Well, not everything. I didn't tell him I had killed two men five years ago. We were saying our goodbyes when he offered to spend the night with me. We got a hotel room and got super drunk. I was finally living again. I felt alive for the first time in five fucking years.

It was the morning when everything came crashing down. I found him bent over the bedpost, bruised and battered, his neck broken. I knew I must have killed him, even though I had no memory of it. It was the worst feeling in the world. I could have loved this man. I could have easily fallen in love with him and spent the rest of my life with him. He was perfect. So sweet and caring and. . .giving. Now he laid dead in my arms. That was the last time I cried, the last time I felt bad for the things I did.

Now another one lies before me. An unconcious 20-something year old faggot, just like me. He'll probably just end up dying young anyway. This world is never fair. Not even once. I don't know why I didn't want to kill this one. Maybe because he looked like Jakee, the stupid fucking faggot that got me into this mess. After I burried Jakee in the woods behind Grandma's, I went on a killing spree. I killed 14 other men while Grandma was out visiting relatives. Lately though I've been trying to fight the urge to kill by going to the gay bars and drugging them there. Usually I can have sex and just leave them to wake up with their cum-covered faces. I guess that is what I will do tonight. I like this one, but I want him to wake up. I want all of them to wake up . . .


End file.
